


Façade

by wreckofherheart



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 08:25:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6187354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckofherheart/pseuds/wreckofherheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whole ordeal isn’t so funny after the umpteenth time. [Peggy/Dottie]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Façade

The whole ordeal isn’t so funny after the umpteenth time.

Peggy isn’t new to sex. More to the point, she finds no shame in the activity either. While men and women may view her as something cheap, she could not care less. After all, the opinion of others has never bothered her unless such an opinion was uttered by someone she cared about. 

Either way, though, her sex life is a private, concealed matter; people may wonder, but they won’t ever know the real truth.

Sex with men or women can be great, although, if Peggy were honest, she’s always felt more lenient towards the latter. Which is probably a fact Dottie knew about––somehow––before the two had even entertained the possibility.

That possibility being kissing with bloodied lips, and clawing into each other’s skin while they fuck relentlessly against the wall.

It is a hate thing. It is ugly and the first time it happens, Peggy stresses that _this will be the only time_. Never again. Dottie just smirks, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She heard Peggy, but, if anything, Peggy’s words were just mere amusement.

Because the next time it happens, Peggy doesn’t know if she loathes Dottie even more, or is actually starting to respect her. Perhaps she always has. Dottie is a brilliant spy; only a fool would deny that. And not once has Peggy underestimated Dottie’s brilliance. She has been trained at a very young age, crafted into a warrior; she is a woman of her own means. Independent, beautiful and freakishly intelligent. What is there not to respect?

It can’t be the sex.

As good as it feels.

 

 

The next time it happens Peggy is certain her rib is broken, and that she’s at least snapped several of Dottie’s fingers. Once again, they have collided into each other during a mission, and Dottie has decided to take it personally. For fun, of course. She _loves_ to make it personal with Peggy. So it is Dottie who swipes first, who kicks Peggy in the stomach, winding her momentarily. And, out of defence, Peggy has no option but to attack.

Needless to say, it is the blood splashed across her face, Peggy’s skilful yet violent hands, and speedy recovery which Dottie finds so very sexy. Peggy braces herself for the next approach, but it only takes a second before she realises. Dottie’s crooked smile vanishes immediately and she’s suddenly kissing her, her tongue parting Peggy’s lips and demanding her taste. 

Her hands are harsh in Peggy’s clothes, and she rips them away––hungry and wanting, and Peggy can’t _resist_. Because, _fuck_ , it’s been so _long_ since anybody has _wanted_ her this way. Who has genuinely wanted her even. And Dottie can touch well; _really well_. Dottie pushes Peggy down to the floor, pressing her body on top of hers, and grinding their hips together. It leaves Peggy breathless, and clinging onto the other woman while she does whatever she pleases.

It takes less than ten minutes, and Peggy isn’t certain how it’s possible to feel so satisfied, exhausted yet mad all at once. But that’s how she feels, anyway, and it’s that _madness_ which makes her grab Dottie by the hair and yank her off. 

‘This means nothing.’

Dottie grins, and watches her dress. Peggy is quick; she is a soldier, after all, but all the while she can feel Dottie’s eyes on her and its _unnerving_ and yet so _good_. 

She whips around to glare at her. Dottie sits upright, naked, and eyeing her with a cocked brow. ‘I’ll miss you, Peg.’

‘No, you won’t.’

 

 

If it is not the sex, then Peggy wouldn’t keep consenting.

They decided to work together this time around. Stupid, Peggy thinks afterwards, but Dottie is fantastic and she does require her assistance. And it’s cold and freezing and Dottie suggests they huddle together for warmth, but Peggy refuses. 

Until Dottie’s mouth is on hers, and they’re kissing fiercely, hands shaking and bodies colliding. This has been going on for a while, too long, and yet, for the first time, Dottie has to break apart and look down at Peggy, this strange, gorgeous smile plastered over her lips.

‘You want me, don’t you?’

She nips at Peggy’s earlobe. Peggy groans.

God, she _hates_ this woman.

‘Peggy?’

‘Yes. _Yes_. Yes, I want you!’

Peggy loses patience, and flips them over, so she straddles Dottie’s waist. Her hands caress down her breasts, to her stomach. They’re both breathless, amazed and stunned at what they have done, and what will be done, but it’s so thrilling; Peggy’s heart is racing, _on fire_ , and if Dottie doesn’t give her what she wants soon, she’ll go crazy.

But it is not the sex. Definitely not. Even when they leave each other _sore_ , Peggy refuses to admit there is _anything_ about Dottie she likes. Because the sex is disgusting, the sex is angry, the sex is _mind-blowing_ , and every time she walks away, she’s left throbbing for more.

 

 

Eventually, Peggy loses count. 

And it happens again, and again, and again, and after each time, she warns Dottie this will be the _last_ , even if she knows it won’t be.

They’re enemies this time. They hate each other. Dottie has stolen a very valuable piece of weaponry from the SSR, and Peggy has been ordered to take it back, even if it means prying it from Dottie’s cold, dead hands.

Neither are willing to let up without a fight.

Dottie prefers using her legs. Peggy prefers using what is around her.

And they match each other in every way.

When over an hour has passed, they’re still standing, and they have pulled, punched, kicked, thrown, and they’re exhausted.

‘Why won’t you _die_?’ Dottie snarls. Peggy ignores the knot in her stomach; Dottie’s question almost sounds like a plea.

‘Death by you? I would never allow that.’ 

She twitches a smile. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Perhaps that is where you fail.’

‘Oh, is it?’

Peggy hesitates. She suddenly reaches for her handgun and aims it at the woman’s head. ‘I could kill you now; let this end.’

‘Finally,’ Dottie breathes. And then she smiles. ‘Oh, Peggy. You don’t have it in you.’ Dottie dares take a step closer. ‘You wouldn’t kill me.’ 

Peggy cocks the gun––a _click_ echoes the room.

Dottie’s expression hardens. 

‘Cruel.’

Peggy doesn’t blink. ‘That makes two of us.’

For a while, Dottie just stands there, eyes wide; she almost appears innocent. But Peggy is used to her many façades, and doesn’t take the bait. Dottie can try and make Peggy sympathise, but this has been going on for too long. 

… but she still hasn't fired.

‘Do it.’ 

Dottie grins ear-to-ear. She waits a second.

One step closer to Peggy.

‘Shoot me.’

Peggy is completely still.

But she does not fire. 

She watches Dottie like a hawk while the blonde inches closer, closer again. ‘Blow my brains out, my darling. Paint the walls with me.’

Peggy pulls the trigger slightly.

Too late.

Dottie is inches away, and her grin has almost completely disappeared. She grabs Peggy’s wrist, and lowers the gun. 

‘You wouldn't kill me.’

They’re kissing.

But, this sort of kissing––this is how lovers kiss. 

Gentle and sweet. _Not the way Dottie kisses_. They kiss each other with short breaks in between, as if asking for permission each time. 

Peggy can feel Dottie’s breath when they pull close, when their lips meet, when her tongue is in her mouth, and she’s moaning and running her hands beneath Peggy’s blouse. She can feel her warmth, smell her rich, poisonous perfume, and then Dottie is kissing her neck, her breasts, and then her fingers are inside her.

‘I love you.’

Peggy snaps her eyes open and glares at her. Dottie slams her mouth onto hers, and rolls her hips over Peggy’s, and they’re kissing and gasping and falling to the floorboard. It’s a fumble of limbs, a mess, a maddening passion as they touch, bite and kiss. 

It is not the sex. It is more: Dottie pays _attention_ to Peggy, gives her everything she wants; shimmies down between her legs and makes Peggy scream simply with her tongue. They forget the rules, and who’s winning; they forget this is a competition of pride and brilliance, and they’re gripping onto each other so tirelessly they make each other bleed.

Dottie doesn’t stop kissing Peggy, and it’s so good and so wonderful, Peggy would happily die from suffocation. 

‘I love you, Peggy Carter.’

_No_.

Peggy grabs a fistful of Dottie’s hair and forces Dottie to look at her. There is that playful, daring nature in her eyes Peggy wishes she didn’t love and hate so much, but also a slight tenderness. Dottie is serious. 

‘Don’t you _dare_.’

The confession is enough to turn Peggy off completely. She pushes Dottie away, and reaches for her clothes. 

It’s the same again.

Peggy dresses again, refuses to speak again, and denies Dottie’s feelings. And Dottie can only smirk and watch while her target fastens her armoury back on, so deeply dented from Dottie’s blades and smiles. 

‘Will we play again soon?’ 

The agent turns to the spy, and wishes she could hate her.

But she doesn’t.

She never really has.

Proud woman that she is, Peggy does not let on how she’s feeling. Instead, she approaches the door and Dottie watches her retreat, grinning.

She knows.

‘Farewell, Miss Carter.’

 


End file.
